


humiliation; entertainment

by heatdeath (keptein)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: BDSM, Collars, Comeplay, Food, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Leashes, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Other, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Spreader Bars, Subspace, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Penetration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/pseuds/heatdeath
Summary: Koutarou shudders, swallowing as his grip on the cucumber tightens. So this is what it's all about. He's been asking to do a session focusing on humiliation for a while - Keiji’s words are so razor-sharp, and the cuts they leave are almost painless until they start to bleed. It's hard to explain, but it's wildly sexy, and so is the way they help him stitch the wounds up afterwards.





	humiliation; entertainment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [decidueye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidueye/gifts).



> one: i have no excuses. this was meant to just be meaningless smut practice. two: i blame tawni for asking for bokuaka and humiliation. three: it actually gets kind of sweet towards the end, despite the absolutely ludicrous start. four: this is a post-canon world in which they are living together and are happily trans, bokuto is a trans guy and akaashi is nonbinary on hrt (they/them). **the kink in this (humiliation) is carefully negotiated, and is _not_ something you or your partner should be doing without first talking about it openly, explicitly and at length. it is never healthy to treat your partner, or be treated by your partner, in a humiliating, demeaning manner. sometimes we like things that aren't healthy, but we have to take responsibility for that, and make sure it's still done as _safely, sanely and consensually_ as possible. if you feel like this fic mirrors your experience, particularly if this experience is not by choice, please talk to someone you trust about your situation.**

“We’re starting now. Don’t forget that you can back out whenever you want.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Koutarou says, waving his hand in the air. He always gets flippant in the liminal space between play and not-play, insecure and desperate to prove himself. Keiji usually keeps him in line, but they’re silent now, and he waits for his reprimand for a while before he sees what Keiji is holding out.

Keiji is standing next to the bed, and they’re holding out a freshly washed cucumber, green and big and wholly phallic.

Koutarou looks between it and their eyes, disbelieving. “No  _ way,  _ come on…”

“Are you resisting?” Keiji asks mildly. There is no heat in their eyes, just a cool confidence that makes Koutarou shift and reach his hand up to play with his collar, a simple band of leather around his throat.

He swallows. “No, Keiji-san.”

“Good. Spread your legs and sit against the headboard.”

Koutarou scoots back on the bed, sitting as Keiji instructed. He's naked already, undressed by Keiji’s careful hand, but otherwise they've barely done anything. Keiji had reminded him of his safe words beforehand, which usually signals something new, but this - this was definitely unexpected. Keiji pulls out a leash and ties the handle of it to the headboard, clipping the end to the O-ring on Koutarou’s collar. Their fingers are certain and precise, not lingering for even a moment. They fasten cuffs around Koutarou’s ankles and link them to a spreader bar, before stepping back to admire him. 

Koutarou sits back against the headboard, testing the bonds of his ankles. The leash is slack for now, but he can't move far without the line pulling him back into place. His hands are free, and he can move his knees a little to close his thighs, but the spreader bar makes the position uncomfortable, and he quickly relaxes his thighs again, cunt on full display.

“Good,” Keiji says again. Nothing gets past them. They hold out the cucumber again. “You have to make yourself come with this.”

_ “Keiji-san,”  _ Koutarou says, distressed. “I don't - I can't…”

“You can.” Their firmness is relaxing, but Koutarou can't take his eyes away from the fucking cucumber, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “You are going to make yourself come with this. You can't touch yourself with anything else, including your fingers.”

“That's so mean…!”

_ “And _ you have to talk while you do so. Pretend it's my cock.”

“I  _ wish _ it was your cock…”

Keiji reaches out, slapping Koutarou lightly with the cucumber. He flinches and looks up at them, lower lip sticking out as he pouts. “Put on a good performance and maybe you'll be rewarded. For now, stop talking back. Hold out your hand.”

Koutarou does, and Keiji drops the cucumber into it.

“Start,” they say simply. They take a seat on the bed, legs curled up under them, and the sleek black dress that they're wearing offers Koutarou no relief, the lines of Keiji’s body hidden to the eye. They like wearing form-fitting clothes and showing off the lines of their body while they play, fetishwear that should look ridiculous on everyone but somehow looks hot as hell on them. Sometimes Koutarou brags that the sight of them will be enough to push him over the edge, and they've clearly decided not to take any mercy on him, foregoing what they usually wear in favour of this well-made potato sack.

Oh, God, potato sack. It’s vegetables all the way down, and he doesn’t even have a thing for food - although, knowing Keiji, he will have a very different relationship with it after tonight. It's very mean, Koutarou thinks, the whole thing, how they’re dressed and what they’re making him do, but Keiji has made it clear they won't tolerate him airing such thoughts. He swallows, gripping the cucumber uncertainly, feeling the ridges of it in his hand. It might be sexy, if he could forget that it's a damn  _ vegetable _ for two minutes, but he can't, and the phallic nature of it is just an embarrassing coincidence rather than anything he's sought out.

But Keiji wants him to perform with it. And like this - well, in all instances of their life together, if Koutarou can help it - what Keiji wants, Keiji gets.

“No lube or anything?” he asks.

Keiji shakes their head with a slight smile. “You'll get plenty wet enough, won't you, Kou-kun? I know what a slut you are. Anything that you can fuck yourself with is good enough for you.”

Koutarou shudders, swallowing as his grip on the cucumber tightens. So this is what it's all about. He's been asking to do a session focusing on humiliation for a while - Keiji’s words are so razor-sharp, and the cuts they leave are almost painless until they start to bleed. It's hard to explain, but it's wildly sexy, and so is the way they help him stitch the wounds up afterwards.

“Isn't it, Kou-kun?”

“Yes, Keiji-san,” he says quietly, head hanging. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry. Just begin.”

Koutarou closes his eyes. He steadies his grip on the damn thing, and then he starts to run circles over himself with it. They’re right - he is wet enough, and it only catches a little on the skin as he runs it over his slit up to his clit, starting to harden and swell. If he closes his eyes, it feels like a textured dildo, and it’s not half bad aside from the fact that  _ it’s a cucumber. _

“Talk,” Keiji reminds him. Their tone is gentler than expected, and Koutarou is grateful that they aren't punishing him - he'd legitimately forgotten that they instructed him to talk.

“Feels - feels good, Keiji-san,” he says reluctantly.

Keiji snorts, and even though Koutarou cannot see it, he can imagine exactly the face they're making. “Don't pretend you're better than this, Kou-kun. It's my cock. Beg for it like you always do.”

Koutarou swallows a whine, nodding as he teases his own entrance. “Your cock… Your cock feels really good, Keiji-san.. just big enough for me, ‘n.. so hard..” He can feel himself getting wetter, the cucumber sliding more easily over his skin, making him jolt as he rubs his clit with it.

“Are you going to fuck yourself with it, then?”

“Yeah,” Koutarou says, nodding and swallowing. “Just need to get myself prepared.”

“So you're not ready for my cock already,” Keiji observes, and Koutarou’s cheeks flush. He knows they're teasing him, and they walk the balance so finely, where he ends up both embarrassed about his easiness and eager to prove the truth of it. In other words: ashamed because he's too eager and yet not eager enough.

It's the kind of feeling only Keiji can invoke. “You're the one who won't let me use any lube,” he says weakly. Keiji doesn't even dignify it with a response, instead watching intently where Koutarou is touching himself, rubbing it in circles over his cunt and gathering the slick. “Ah - Keiji-san…”

“Does it feel good?” Keiji asks. Koutarou wonders if they were planning on talking this much from the start, or if they're getting swept up in it already. He nods, already a little breathless, and starts to press the cucumber in. “Oh…”

The sound of Keiji’s soft moan makes Koutarou whimper and push it deeper, thighs beginning to shake with tension. The spreader bar offers him no relief, and his upper body is kept in place by the leash. “Fuck - oh, God, Keiji-san, it's  _ big…” _

“You should be used to it by now.”

Koutarou shakes his head, starting to fuck himself gently. The sensations combined with Keiji’s hot gaze makes for a heady feeling, and he feels bigger than his skull already, consciousness expanding beyond the confines of his skin. “Can never get used to it,” he breathes, “it's so perfect, every time, has to catch me by surprise…” The words start to fall out of him more easily, and soon enough he's babbling alongside the slick sounds of the cucumber fucking in and out of him, just like Keiji wanted.

It's so good, Keiji’s cock is so good, even this weird facsimile is making him feel amazing, and he says as much, too, praising it and saying his thank yous, again and again and again.

“You're welcome, I know how much you love it,” Keiji says, their voice hoarse and aroused, and Koutarou moans loudly at the words, bucking forward before he's pulled back sharply by the leash.

“Please, please, oh - let me come, Keiji-san, please, it feels so good, you feel so good, thank you, thank you for letting me f-feel -  _ hah - _ ”

“You may come,” Keiji says, and no sooner have the words left their mouth before Koutarou is coming, garbled and graceless - he twists, panting and writhing and fighting the shackles around his ankles as pleasure rolls through his whole body, starting from the pit of his stomach and going up, up, up, until he's floating on a cloud.

When he is able to feel his lips again, they're still moving, mumbling quietly, “Love my Keiji-san so much, love their cock.. thank you, always feels so good.. love you…”

Keiji exhales, and Koutarou follows the action hazily, watching their face in increments - first their lips, then their cheeks, then their nose, then their eyes. Every part is as perfect as the last. Keiji opens their mouth to speak, but Koutarou can't help but interrupt, still dazed from his orgasm.

“You're so beautiful, Keiji-san.”

Keiji’s eyes widen and then narrow, and they're speechless for a long moment. Koutarou waits patiently, resting the slick cucumber against his inner thigh. “Thank you,” they say finally. “What does that make you?”

“Very lucky,” Koutarou sighs. “Very grateful.”

While shuffling forward, Keiji reaches their hands forward, stroking over the panes of Koutarou’s chest. “It makes you weak,” they say, thumbing at his nipples. “It makes you desperate.”

“Oh…” Koutarou shifts, turning into the attention happily.

“Makes you my good little slut, doesn't it?” Keiji cups his chin and turns his face up, and Koutarou nods agreeably with lidded eyes. “You'd do anything just so you can imagine I'm fucking you. That's, hm… pathetic.”

Koutarou’s breath hitches and he tries to pull back, but Keiji is gripping his chin tightly, watching him intently as they speak.

“So desperate… crying with gratitude because I let you fuck yourself with a  _ vegetable,  _ how depraved are you?”

He winces, swallowing. Keiji’s free hand moves down over his stomach, pinching the skin occasionally before they cup his clit, playing with the swollen, sensitive flesh.

“I could make you do anything… your standards are so low, I'm embarrassed to be seen with you. What if people knew what you let me do to you, hm? What kind of person would they think you were?”

Koutarou doesn't answer immediately, and Keiji pinches his clit, looking impatient - he barely stifles his grunt, jaw clenching as he answers. “A… a sad person,” he says. “Disgusting.”

“That's right,” Keiji says with satisfaction, and they go back to rubbing his clit, deft fingers moving over him and making his thighs twitch. It feels good, and the counterpoint of their hurtful words only makes it feel better, some sick self-reinforcing cycle that makes the pit of Koutarou’s stomach gather itself into tight knots at the same time as it sends heat through the rest of his body. “A sad, disgusting boy. Do you think they’d think about how much better than you they are? What they'd be able to do in bed that you can't? I'm sure they'd have some dignity, at least…”

Koutarou’s throat hurts too much to speak. He's reduced to nodding, hips rocking into Keiji’s hand. 

“Will you turn yourself on now, going grocery shopping? I know how greedy you are, how gross… You’ll look at everything and think about what obscene things you could do with it. There's no limit to what you'll fuck yourself with, after all, we've seen that… What's next? A banana, or a carrot? Or do you want something bigger, like an eggplant? Maybe you're truly disgusting and you want everything at once, stuff yourself full until you can't take anymore.”

At that, Koutarou physically reacts, jolting away from their hands, but he's kept in place by his bonds and Keiji’s grip, unable to escape it.

“Are you going to come from this, boy? Come from the thought of being that openly disgusting? I can't believe I'm dating someone like  _ you.” _

Koutarou’s thighs press together tightly around their arm as he comes, choking on a protest and flinching violently with the force of it. It hurts - a good hurt, but a hurt nonetheless, somehow his cheeks got wet without him noticing, feeling small and alone even through his orgasm.

“God, you're pathetic,” Keiji exhales, and spreads his legs forcefully, pressing into him with a moan. Koutarou gasps, reaching for their shoulders and holding them tightly, moving as close as he can get and whining into them. They tangle a hand in their hair, silent except for a moan as they start to fuck him.

It's almost too much. Koutarou can feel their cock in him, and his two orgasms have made him so sensitive that he can feel every inch move - it's overwhelming, and he’s surrounded by Keiji, above him and around him and in him, getting lost in it until the only thing he can smell, touch, taste is Keiji, the only thing he can think is Keiji.

It lasts a second, forever, until Keiji pulls out again, and Koutarou’s whimper of discontent is lost in the sound of their groan as they orgasm over the sheets, ropes of come spreading onto the white linen and seeping into it. “Kou-kun,” they moan, sitting back on their haunches, and Koutarou forces his eyes open to watch them as they catch their breath. “Oh… better than I expected from a used thing like you.”

Keiji is still out of breath, and their words sound almost gleeful, their usual bite lost in the haze of orgasm. Koutarou smiles, shifting in the cuffs and watching them. It would break a rule to touch himself without permission, but for once he doesn't even consider it - his need for stimulation is nothing compared to how much he wants to please and satisfy Keiji, his Keiji, his favourite person in the universe. 

“I’m gonna untie you now,” Keiji says, voice still hoarse. “Just the leash.” They move up, freeing the leash from the headboard as they talk. “You have an important job. We can’t sleep on the bed when it’s this dirty, and this mess is your fault. You have to clean it up.”

“Ah - okay,” Koutarou says, eagerly trying to shuffle closer, even though his still-bound legs are making him clumsy and robbing his movements of any grace. “How?”

“With your mouth,” Keiji says. “Make sure you get it all.”

Koutarou swallows, already salivating at the thought of their come. He knows it’s cliché, but there’s nothing like the feeling of Keiji in his mouth - even if the taste can vary in how much he likes it, everything it symbolises makes him weak in the knees and turned on as hell. He starts to move, immediately aware that the bar keeps his ankles wide apart, and he can’t gather his knees under himself as he lowers himself onto his stomach. The result is that he’s kept on display for Keiji, legs spread with his hips in the air, back bent to lick at the come that’s staining the white linen.

“That’s it,” Keiji murmurs. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t desperate for this. You’ll take any part of me. You’ll beg for it.”

Koutarou moans and nods, lapping up the slick.

“Let me hear it.”

Koutarou’s mouth is already occupied, but like this, he doesn’t care about what’s impossible or not - Keiji wants, so Keiji gets. “Tastes so good,” he mumbles, sucking the salt out of the sheet. “Best thing ever, makes me so hot, Keiji-san’s come always feels amazing when they give it to me…”

“Are you grateful?” Keiji asks. “Even when you have to get it secondhand like this, licking it up from the bedsheets like an animal? I can see how how wet you are, dripping all over yourself. You’re disgusting.”

Koutarou whimpers and turns his head to catch their eye, and he can see that they’re still flushed and breathing heavily from their orgasm, their eyes dark and trained on his mouth. Then their question catches up with him and he nods eagerly, almost unbalancing with the force.

“Good… Good boy. Keep going.”

Koutarou nods again, more careful this time, and goes back to sucking out their come from the sheets. Keiji keeps speaking to him as he does, voice keeping the hoarseness that makes Koutarou shiver in pleasure. He doesn’t stop until Keiji tells him to, relaxing back with a grateful moan. His jaw hurts, but that doesn’t matter.

Only one thing matters.

Keiji moves forward, releasing the shackles around his ankles. “Lie on your side,” they say, and Koutarou does so with a contented sigh. He feels like he’s one with the mattress, and when it dips behind him, that’s part of his body - part of his body that is pressing against Keiji, who lies with their chest pressed to his back, stroking his hair. “You can relax now… you did very well.”

Koutarou sighs out again, closing his eyes and shuffling back into them. For a moment, there is a lump in his throat - but then it dissolves again as quickly as it came, and his voice is clear and quiet when he speaks. “Thank you, Keiji-san.”

“You have your uses,” they say, kissing his neck. “You’re very useful to me.”

“Mmm…”

“You’re obedient… that’s very good. You do what you’re told.”

“I try,” he says, soft and happy.

“Even when it makes you look ridiculous.”

Koutarou shifts, pouting a little. “Keiji-san,” he says, but it's a half-hearted, content protest. He knows what comes next.

“Even when I test you and tell you many mean things, you're very good for me.” Their voice is a quiet, steady murmur, and it keeps Koutarou afloat in the sea of foam and springs and dirty sheets. “My most prized possession… you never let me down. Lift your leg, my lovely toy. Let me feel how perfect you are.”

He does as told, exhaling when they enter him again. They're not fully hard, but Koutarou still lets them know that he's grateful, moaning softly as they settle into him.

Keiji breathes against his neck. “Made for me,” they say softly. “All of you was made for me. No one could ever make me feel better than you do.”

Koutarou closes his eyes, nodding. Tears are building behind his eyelids, but they don't matter, and he's not ashamed of them, letting them flow over his temples. Keiji knows how he gets. Keiji loves how he gets.

“I love how easy you are… always ready for me, always show me what I can do to you. Every part of you is perfect.” Their hand moves to cup him, feeling out his swollen clit, and they pinch it gently between their fingers as they speak, rubbing it slowly. “And just for me.”

A soft whine escapes Koutarou’s throat as he nods, pressing back against them to show his enthusiasm. “All for you, Keiji-san, Keiji-san…”

“Such a good boy… you can come for me again, can't you?”

Koutarou’s breath hitches, and there is a second of hesitation before he nods, swallowing. “I think so.”

“I know you can, because you're so good for me,” Keiji says, scraping their teeth along his neck. “You feel so good around me, sweetheart… Let me feel how tight you get when you come.”

“Fuck,” Koutarou lets out, garbled and embarrassed as he presses his face into the mattress, rutting into their hand.  _ “Keiji-san,  _ that's - too much -”

“I know, but you can take it,” they say, sounding so sure despite the breathless quality of their voice, and they pinch his clit and he can't help but come, orgasming with a hurt whine and bucking into his hand. It's too much; it's too much, but he's Keiji's, he's around them, he's the mattress pressing up under them and he's the air they're breathing so quickly onto his neck. “Good, my good boy, my Kou-kun…”

Koutarou gasps for breath, spent and exhausted as he sinks into the mattress, his orgasm leaching out the last of his tension into his body. He rests back against Keiji, a boneless mess, and Keiji hugs him closer, kissing his neck.

“Come down when you're ready, baby.”

Koutarou knows that when he comes down, it will be over - Keiji will move away, just enough that he can choose whether he wants to be close or not, but he will always choose being tightly wound around them, because it will feel impossible to be without them. When he comes down, Keiji will give him water and food, and he will ask how they are, and they will smile and say,  _ good.  _ And he will gesture towards their half-hard cock and start to say,  _ what about…  _ And he won't be able to finish the sentence, too ashamed by the thought that he didn't manage to make Keiji come one last time. But they will reach out, take his hand and squeeze it and say,  _ it's fine. This is what I wanted.  _ And it'll be hard - hard to hear, hard to accept, but Koutarou will do it, and afterwards he'll cuddle into them and tell them how amazing he felt. It'll be impossible to put into words how the lines of his body ceased to exist, or how his love for them felt like the only universal truth, but he will try his hardest to convey it.

And they might laugh and tell him they love him, and then he'll be complete, even though he's heard it many times before. And he'll say it back - for sure, he'll say it back, and they'll kiss him gently, and say,  _ good. _

And it will be.

For now, Koutarou stays in the cloud, reassured by the familiarity of what comes next, the knowledge that he can stay there for as long as he needs. Keiji strokes his chest slowly. In his image of the future, there was one piece missing - and that piece is that he already feels complete, even though Keiji has said nothing at all, even though they're just breathing steadily against his skin.

“I love you,” he says, soft and quiet and reverent.

“I love you too,” Keiji replies, just as soft and quiet. And Koutarou knows, without a doubt, that they do. 

**Author's Note:**

> & then they lived gayly ever after. [tumblr](http://tivruskis.tumblr.com) (and i have [an 18+ one](http://heatdeaths.tumblr.com) as well) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/tivruskis). no one tell my mom about this fic. no one tell any moms about this fic.


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